Abandoned in Antarctica
by Meercatwhisperer112
Summary: Alternative ending: What if Pitch had taken Jack's staff, his memories and baby Tooth when he left, leaving the winter spirit alone in a frozen wasteland for seventy years with nothing but the ice to keep him company. Trigger warning, rated T for character death, self harm and suicidal thoughts.
1. Chapter 1- Abandoned

**So, I was attacked by this as a wild plot bunny idea; it can be a one-shot, or I could maybe add another two or three chapters, depending on what you think. It's very depressing, and I call trigger warnings for self harm and suicidal thoughts. I've never really deliberately tried to write something depressing before, and I don't know how well I handled it, so I'd really appreciate any thoughts you have in a review.**

* * *

"You wanted to be alone; so be alone!" Pitch spat, anger twisting his features. A look of horror and betrayal flashed across Jack's face; really, what did the child expect? After what Pitch had done to Sandy, after what Pitch had done to _him_, was this double-crossing really so shocking?

At that moment the wretched little fairy stabbed deep into his hand with her humming bird beak. With a howl of pain and fury, Pitch launched the bird as far as he could, taking some satisfaction in the soft '_thwump'_ she made as she hit the stone and fell into a crevice.

"Baby Tooth!" cried Jack. He turned back to Pitch, rage hardening his eyes, but before he could move Pitch snapped his staff in half. The Nightmare King grinned at the winter spirit's gasp of pain. He glided up to the boy, and struck him hard against the face. Jack reeled back, and Pitch struck twice more, once to the stomach and another to his face, this one to his eye. Pitch laughed before prising the golden box of teeth out of the child's now limp fingers.

"Happy dreaming," he purred, using a wave of nightmare sand to slam Jack into the same crevice as Baby Tooth. He snatched the tiny fairy off the ground and disappeared, taking the boy's staff with him. The Nightmare King was ready to defeat the guardians once and for all.

* * *

Jamie Bennett sighed sadly as he let the stuffed rabbit fall. He should have known. He was nine years old, after all, too old to be believing in kid's stuff like this. His friends were right.

"I knew it," he muttered sadly.

At that moment, though, he heard a clatter from outside his window- a sign? Heart leaping, he peered into the chilly spring night. With a gasp he saw the sleigh, flying erratically, as though the person steering had lost control. Jamie barely paused to pull on his shoes as he raced downstairs, eager to see what was happening.

"Santa?" he breathed, recognizing the figure that staggered from the now smoking sleigh. The old man, with his long white beard and fuzzy black hat, smiled down at him.

"The last believer," he breathed, before an iridescent humming bird crawled out the wreckage after him. He immediately turned to help her, and Jamie recognized this figure too.

"The tooth fairy! What... what happened to you? And where are Sandman and the Easter Bunny?" For a moment, sadness clouded the fairy's eyes as Santa Clause helped her to her feet.

"Ah hate the sleigh," groaned a voice as a third figure crawled out the wreckage. Jamie looked down at it in confusion, before giggling.

"Easter Bunny? But you were huge, and cool! Now you're... cute," he finished lamely, stroking the rabbit under its fluffy cheek. It tapped its foot happily before shaking himself out of it and scowling good naturedly up at the child. Suddenly a dark chuckle rang throughout the town. "What was that?" murmured Jamie nervously.

"Pitch," growled North, and they prepared to fight.

* * *

They all agreed afterwards that if it hadn't been for Jamie, the guardians would have faded from existence. As it was, it had been a close call: Pitch's nightmares had terrified the child, but he had the bright idea of fetching his friends, and their combined belief gave the guardians the strength they needed to fight back. The cherry on top was the return of the sandman. When they finally returned to Santoff Clausen in the wee hours of the morning, everyone was in high spirits.

"What's that, Sandy?" asked North blearily. They had been celebrating for several hours, but now exhaustion was beginning to creep over, and the Cossack was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Sandy sighed and flashed the symbols again. "Oh. You want to know where Jack is." The guardian of wonder groaned, but was saved from answering when the guardian of hope cut in.

"'e's a dirty little traitor that sided with Pitch, and if he know what's good for 'im 'e'll be hiding in a hole for the next fifty years." Sandy frowned; that didn't fit with the Jack he knew at all.

"We'll tell you about it soon," promised North. "Now, however, is time for rest." There was mumbled agreement, and the guardians trooped up to their bedrooms.

Jamie Bennett lay awake in bed, grinning broadly as he ran through the day's events in his head. It definitely didn't get better than this, the young boy decided: not only were Santa and the others real, but they were now his friends! For a while it had seemed like Easter was ruined, but this was, for certain, his best Easter ever.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball, crying softly over the destruction of Easter and the people he might have called friends. His face was blackened with bruising, and his very core seemed to ache with the destruction of his staff. For a short time it had looked like things would change, but Pitch was right: he made a mess of everything.

* * *

Winter arrived, and there was no sign of the winter spirit. Bunny refused to even mention him, and North and Tooth were only too happy to go along with this, hurt as they were by his betrayal. Only Sandy, now clued up to the events of Easter, felt any concern, but he kept it hidden. Once the others were more open minded, then they could find the child and hear his side of the story. For the time being, Sandy was sure Jack was fine.

Jamie Bennett celebrated his tenth birthday by throwing a Winter Wonderland party. He went as Jack Frost, with hair sprayed white and a long, blue velvet cape that reached down past his ankles dragging on the floor behind him. Sophie went as an Arctic Hare, the twins as the only two identical snowflakes, Monty as a snowman, Pippa as a polar bear and Cupcake as a snow angel. Everyone agreed that the best game was pin the nip on Jack Frost's nose, which ended with them chasing Jamie down with blue marker pens and safety pins.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball at the bottom of a chasm. The icy walls were impossible to grasp onto, and without his staff he had no way of getting out. This last attempt had resulted in a particularly painful fall, and the would-be guardian wondered if he might have broken a rib. He breathed raggedly trying to hold back tears as he wished for someone to comfort him. Pitch was right: he was afraid of being alone.

* * *

Five years had passed, and there was no sign of the winter spirit. Tooth brought him up in one of their monthly meetings, and everyone went silent, Bunny's expression closing off.

"I'm just saying," she tried to reason with him, "that no one's seen him since that Easter. What if Pitch captured him? What if... what if he... you know... killed himself?" The last part came out as a whisper, and North's head jerked up in shock, the thought having never occurred to him. Bunny, however, remained unbothered.

"He's just hiding," snarled the Pooka. "Too afraid to show his face after his only ally was defeated. If he was dead, the Man in the Moon would have told us, just like he did with Old Man Winter. Don't waste your time worrying about the brat- he ain't worth the effort." Sandy sighed inwardly, having expected nothing less, and privately checked the Burgess Lake where Jack was known to live. He was growing anxious, but kept quiet, hoping they would come around in their own time.

Jamie Bennett was fifteen now, and didn't tell anyone that he still believed in Santa Clause and the other guardians. He already had a reputation for being a bit strange, and that would surely only exacerbate things. However, he wasn't unhappy: he had a very close group of friends, and him and Pippa had started dating. For Valentine's day they had gone midnight skating on a frozen lake in the middle of the Burgess woods, and then had pancakes at her house at three in the morning.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball as the hunger gnawed away at him. Always skinny, the child could see himself wasting away, and wondered if immortals could starve. It had taken nearly two years, but he eventually made it out of the chasm. His prospects were no better, though, as he now found himself surrounded by an endless expanse of white. Unable to sleep, he drummed out a steady beat on the taut skin between his ribs. Bunny had been right: he might as well not exist.

* * *

Ten years had passed, and there was no sign of the winter spirit. Sandy always kept an eye out for the child as he made the round through colder weather, and Tooth told her fairies to report back if they got so much as a glimpse of him. North went back to the lake Jack called home, folded up a letter and left it in one of the trees. When he returned three months later, it was still there, destroyed by the rain that had fallen in the area.

Bunny still glared at any mention of the boy, and his stubbornness, though upsetting, was not surprising to the other guardians: it had taken the Pooka fifty years to forgive Jack for a blizzard that had only affected the US and Canada. Jack's negligence had destroyed an entire Easter, and they all knew that he had been with Pitch when it happened. Not only that, but he had handed over Baby Tooth! The fairy had told them about how she and the child had flown to Pitch's lair after dropping off Sophie, and how Pitch had separated them. Everything was black between that and her rescue by the guardians. North had declared head trauma induced amnesia, but it was pretty clear what had transpired. Still, though... Bunny excluded, they would have liked to hear the boy's side of the story. Too bad he was in hiding.

Jamie Bennett had graduated school and was in his second year of college after having taken a gap year with Pippa. He was majoring in engineering only because that was what his parents had wanted, and was now considering switching to art. He loved painting fantasy, particularly depictions of myths and fables. Pippa thought he should do what he wanted. She was two states over, studying biochemistry, but they talked on the phone every night, and skyped each other as often as possible.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball as he tried again and again. No. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be happening, no, he couldn't lose anything else. He'd lost his memories, and he'd lost the people who might have been friends, and he'd lost a potential ally, and then he'd lost baby tooth, and he'd lost his staff to the person who could have been his ally, and if he lost anything Jack felt like he would shatter.

But no matter how hard he tried, the only sound he could produce was a soft whine. His lips moved noiselessly, the words he wanted to say slipping through his grasp as he felt tears well up in his eyes. He'd lost so much, and now, because of years of disuse, he'd lost his voice too. The screams echoed through his mind even as he closed his mouth in defeat, the world exploding around him. The Man in the Moon had been right: he wasn't worth talking to anyway.

* * *

Twenty years passed, and there was no sign of the winter spirit. Tooth, in a moment of desperation, went to ask Pitch what he knew, only to spend three days trapped in his underground lair. Bunny was livid.

"Even when 'e disappears that brat causes nothing but trouble! I told you not to bother with him Tooth, I told you not to waste your time! If he's too much of a coward to come out and face us then it's his fault for having joined sides with Pitch anyway. Let the bugger rot fer all I care!"

North, in a moment of inspiration, decided to check the lists, and see what Jack had been up to. If the boy had been naughty, he decided, then they would leave him be, but if he'd been nice then they would go find him and let him apologise. Much to his confusion, however, the guardian of wonder found that neither list bore the boy's name. Going through the records, North found that Jack was on the 'nice' list for the year that Easter had been destroyed, but after that there was... nothing. It was almost as if the boy simply hadn't _done_ anything in the twenty years that had elapsed. The guardian of wonder wondered if he was still hiding.

Jamie Bennett had been contracted as an illustrator for a children's publishing company, and was recently made famous for a series he did on a group of characters he called 'The Guardians,' whom he claimed had visited him in some of his most vivid childhood dreams. The money went towards he and Pippa's marriage, and he didn't think he'd ever been as happy as the day he stood at the altar watching her come towards him in her beautiful white dress, the March sunlight shining on her hair like a halo. The reception was very tasteful, too, softly lit by candles in the chandeliers high above. Sophie gave them a book of childhood memories, and Jamie smiled to himself as his finger gently traced the crayon drawing of him flying through the air on the sleigh. It was perfect.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball as he tried to stay calm. Tears froze to his face and his breaths came in wheezy little gasps. The darkness was suffocating him, choking him, killing him, like it had been for the last three months. There was no sun during the Antarctic winter, and no way for a child of snow and ice to conjure a flame. The wind howled over him and ice crystals formed into his hair as he lost track of time altogether. He couldn't remember the last time he _hadn't_ been able to fit his fingers around his thighs. Only one thought has been echoing around his head since the sun first disappeared: _Your fault your fault it's all your fault why'd you get distracted why did you talk to Pitch Easter was ruined because of you it's all your fault._ Bunny was right: they should never have trusted him.

* * *

Fifty years passed, and there was no sign of the winter spirit. Tooth had stopped bringing him up at meetings, and Sandy no longer listened out for the child's cheerful laugh as he travelled through the colder areas. North still had the tiny wooden baby, and in times of stress he could be seen putting his hand in his pocket simply to hold it. Though none of them said it out loud, they each quietly realised that they _missed_ Jack. Though he had only been around for two days, they had become closer in that time than they had in the last four centuries.

Even Bunny, who claimed to hate the child, had to admit that this prolonged absence was making him uncomfortable. Deep down, he wondered if it was possible he had made a mistake; what if Jack was dead and the Man in the Moon hadn't bothered telling them. Worse, what if Pitch had had a hold of Jack all this time?

No. They would have found him when they rescued Tooth, if that had been the case. The child was clearly just hiding, but Bunny had to wonder at his emotional stability if he was willing to hide for this long after a few insults... Okay, they had been very harsh insults.

Humans were blaming the milder winters on global warming, and there hadn't been any snow during Easter in decades. For some reason, the Pooka couldn't draw comfort from this.

Jamie Bennett now owned a large house a few miles from the edge of his home town of Burgess. He and Pippa had retired early with their sizeable savings, but Jamie still painted. Pippa had recently become enamoured with the idea of Jack Frost, and he had agreed to illustrate a book she had planned: it detailed the life of a winter sprite named Jack Frost, who spent all day having fun in the snow. He was always smiling, and his only aim in life was to bring happiness to others. Jamie suspected it would be seen as a rip off of the guardian series he had done all those years ago, but agreed to it to keep his wife happy, like the perpetually cheerful immortal she was now writing about.

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack lay curled into a ball. Crimson stained the snow around him, hurting his eyes as he tried to adjust to the non-white. The icicle was still clutched in his hand, and for a few blissful minutes the constant pain of hunger was replaced by a new, different pain. All too soon, however, the wound froze over and the blood ceased to flow. No, it seemed as though he could not kill himself.

The blizzard around him increased as he stared at the wound, and suddenly the child remembered he had taken his hoodie off. He hadn't wanted to stain it with his blood, but now it was buried somewhere beneath the snow. Another thing he had lost. As he desperately searched, the blood became buried as well.

He could dimly remember a world with colours, with noises and voices and people. Now, all he knew was the white and the wind and the screaming that echoed through his head. Emptiness. Monotony. Pitch was right: Jack was used to being ignored.

* * *

Seventy years passed, and there was still no sign of the winter spirit. North had repeatedly asked Manny for help, but had received nothing but watery moonlight in reply. Tooth had had the bright idea of sending out some of her fairies to look for his teeth, hoping that he would be wherever they were. Instead they found the golden canister in a landfill in England.

It was Bunny who had the idea to look at the teeth: his reasoning followed that perhaps whatever Jack had seen in the memories had prompted this disappearance. When they came back to the present, he had a hollow in the pit of his stomach and Tooth was crying. North had left without saying anything, Sandy soon following, shaking his head ruefully.

A few months later the little golden man returned clutching a children's book that he had found on the sidewalk. The cover read 'JACK FROST THE WINTER SPIRIT' in bright primary colours. It was written by someone called Pippa Cleaver, illustrated by Jamie Bennett.

"The last light," breathed North in wonder. "Do you think he knows what happened to Jack?"

"Doesn't matter if he did," said Bunny sourly.

"Bunny!" admonished Tooth. "Of course it matters!" Bunny shook his head.

"No, it doesn't; he's dead." The Pooka pointed to the usually blank page at the beginning of the book. _In loving memory_ it read _of Jamie Bennett, the best artist and husband the world has ever known._ Tooth's heart sunk; that bright eyed little boy who had helped them defeat Pitch all those years ago was gone. It was a sobering prospect.

"I wonder if he knew anything," she murmured, stroking the page. A watercolour of the winter spirit showed him throwing snowballs with a group of school children. The resemblance was uncanny: white hair and bright blue eyes, but instead of a hoodie this Jack was wearing a long cloak. However, when she turned the page, she felt her heart constrict- despite not having seen it in seventy years, she would have recognised that smile anywhere. "I think he might have," she whispered, and the others turned away from the page, unable to stand it.

Pippa Bennett, born Pippa Cleaver, wiped away the tears that were streaming down her face.

"Kyle turned one today," she murmured, sniffling. "I'm so sorry that you'll never meet him; he's gotten so big, and he has your eyes Jamie. He's only one, but they're already shining... shining with enthusiasm..." She had to stop speaking as the wracking sobs engulfed her body. Hot, salty tears dripped onto the soft soil of the grave. When they'd buried him they'd planted an oak sapling over him, and the mild winters had allowed it to flourish. Finally, after about ten minutes, she managed to compose herself again.

"The book is doing well," she said, scrubbing at her eyes lest the tears start up again. "In fact, it's doing more than well. Let's just say that our grandson will never have to worry about college fees: I've put it all in a private account for him." She sniffled again. "I can still remember you, Jamie, in that oversized Jack Frost costume you wore. It was for your tenth birthday, and we held you down, and while the twins drew all over your nose I tickled you." Through the tears she chuckled gently. "You squealed like a girl, and I told you so. You almost didn't let me have cake for that comment." She rested her head on the gravestone, sighing wearily. "I miss you so much. So, so much. I miss your smile. Your enthusiasm. Your way of making the best of any situation. Like in the Guardians pieces you did; what was it you said about them?" She paused, not because she had any trouble recalling what he had said but because every fibre of her being was longing for him to answer for her. "All your dreams can come true, if you hope a fool's hope, look for the wonder in everything, and always remember what really matters to you." Pippa sighed again, the cool marble of the headstone oddly comforting. "You were my dream, Jamie. My dream come true, and now you're gone, and... and I can't see the wonder, and there's nothing left to hope for. All I have left are memories."

Unbeknownst to them, on the other side of the world, Jack stared up to the heavens. It was one of those rare, clear nights, in the Antarctic, and he was taking the opportunity to ignore the screaming wind around him and the screaming voices in his head, ignore the pain of hunger and the pain of wounds inflicted upon himself, ignore the crushing guilt and crushing loneliness that had been plaguing him since that ill-fated Easter, to ignore everything and just reminisce.

He remembered food, and how it tasted, how it felt on the tongue, how it nourished things and helped keep them alive _not you though you don't need food you'll just keep living forever but you want it so badly oh yes you want it_

He remembered flowers, and how they had colours that weren't red, because he could remember that there were colours that weren't red, and he remembered how everyone loved them because they were so bright and full of life _not for you they weren't if winter came near they died not full of life for you_

He remembered children, and smiling, laughing faces, running here and there with him as he instigated snow wars _not with you never with you they couldn't see you they ran right through you invisible Jack Frost unseen Jack Frost it's just an expression_

He remembered the guardians, and how they had dedicated their lives to protecting these children, protecting them from fear and safeguarding the wonders of childhood _not all the children never you they didn't care that you were hopeless that you only had nightmares that you'd lost your memories that the wonder had drained from everything_

And he tried not to cry, because the stars were out and he didn't want to cry, he wanted to remember a time when things were _better _but had they ever been better than this, this waking nightmare of endless snow and ice and who even liked the cold, for he sure didn't, he **hated **snow and he **hated **ice and he **hated **the wind and most of all he **hated **himself and all he wanted was a reprieve but his only reprieve was on the end of a spear and now he was crying and he hated himself even more because his tears were blocking out his view of the stars.

The worst part was not knowing whether or not the guardians were alive or not. He wanted to them to still be alive. He wished them dead. He had resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to find out. He lay on the ice with nothing but his trousers and the blood that beat through his veins, crying silently as he watched the stars travel across the sky.

* * *

Only one being that was not Jack Frost knew where the child was, and seventy years after leaving him to rot out in the Antarctic tundra, Pitch smiled to himself: it was time to return the winter spirit to the world.


	2. Chapter 2-Schrödinger's guardians

**ohmigod, I was not expecting such an amazing reaction to this! I love you all, particularly the beautiful reviewers, and I'm going to continue this. It'll probably end up being about five chapters, and fair warning (in case you somehow haven't worked it out already)- this is not going to be a happy story. So, with that in mind, let us proceed!**

* * *

Jack lay where he had lain for the past... how long had it been? The sun had moved, he knew that much, but summer in Antarctica lasted six months, so all he knew was that it had been less time than that. This little bit of rational thought alone wore him out.

He had been looking for... something. Something important. He knew he had been looking for something important, and it was... his staff? Yes! No. No, it wasn't his staff. It was penguins. Because... because there were penguins in the Antarctic. Apparently. He had yet to see any. Perhaps they were dead too? Like the Schrödinger's guardians. He giggled a little this, proud of the comparison he had thought up back... back when... in the chasm! During the At First! It had been thought up in the chasm, when his thoughts were still... not blurry. Clear? Possibly.

Because penguins were animals, that much he did know. And they had yellow on them. He was sure they had yellow on them. When he squinted his eyes and looked straight at the sun and drummed the rhythm of an old song whose name and most of the words he'd forgotten on his eyelids, he thought that he could see yellow in his mind's eye. Maybe. A little bit. Ice yellow; did that exist? He hoped so, otherwise he had more proof that he was going mad. The fuzziness stole into his mind again, this world disappearing, and when he snatched back the clarity- at least he thought it was clear- his fingertips were covered in blood.

It was his blood, he knew this much, and he didn't want to think about where it came from, because the pain it brought wasn't the good pain of an icicle being sliced through his skin, but a ragged, stinging pain that reminded him that he was not in control. He was never in control.

So instead he thought about the song, and he tried to remember more words, but memories were blurring. He knew it was a song he'd sung a lot, back in the At First. It had words, because a lot of songs did, and it had a tune, because that made it a song, but he didn't know what the tune was. Had no way of hearing a tune. Couldn't even hum anymore, could only gasp, and mustn't gasp because gasping made him panic and panicpanicpanic_don'tpanicpanicdon'tpanic_

Happy Birthday!

Those were words! Two words, in fact, from the song he was trying to remember. And knowing that he had done this, that he had remembered those two words, helped stave off the rising breakdown that built in the back of the winter spirit's throat.

Thoughts and challenge kept him sane. There was no stimulus out here, not for a starved and powerless spirit such as he. Starved of food, of touch, of challenge, a mind left to fester in the putrid scars of others' words.

But these words were... different. Better. Had spoken to him in a way that things he knew hadn't. These were words he wanted to remember, rather than the ones that echoed cruelly round his head, unforgettable (and he didn't want to forget them, he didn't want to forget anything, for memories were all he had left), cruel, true, all of them true, all of them right, _theyshouldneverhavetrustedmeImakeamessofeverything Iwantedtobealonewhatdoiknowaboutprotectingchildren _

Happy birthday. Happy birthday.

The smile felt like it was breaking his face, though to anyone watching it would have been barely noticeable. If he could have, he would have laughed. He knew the words, and they repeated, because everything repeated. He could see that now: everything repeated.

He was alone before, and he was alone again. He'd ruined Easter before and he'd ruined it again. The sun would set for six months, rise for six months, and then set again. The stars were gone now, and next time they were out they would disappear again. The rock was there, and the rock was there, and it was there andthereandthereandthereandthereandthere_andthereandthereandthereand_

When he once again became aware of being, the sun had moved. Again. He tried to think of when that haze had taken over, but he had no time and no time counter. Just that time had passed. Probably.

But he had been thinking of something important... The Words! The Words he had sung in the At First. He didn't know a lot, but he knew that he missed the At First. In the At First, the hunger didn't hurt so bad, and a corner of him still had... love? Joy? Body fat?

Well, that too.

Hope? Perhaps. The spirit no longer really knew that meant. The belief that things could... change? Become different? For there was different, of that he was sure. There was a time when there was still time, and time consisted of minutes and hours and days, and days had meaning, and children had special days that they would 'hope' for and oh!

Children waiting for the day they feel good. Happy Birthday. Happy Birthday.

The memory crashed over him like waves on a rock, and he knew it. He knew The Words that he had sung in the At First, and everything repeated because he knew them once and he knows them again, and they no longer connect because

All around me are familiar faces. Worn out places. Worn out faces.

So now the spirit is crying, tears streaming from eyes whose colour he thinks are maybe blue, freezing on his cheeks or pooling on the stone beneath his face, and he's not crying because The Words no longer connect, but because he knows them, and this is bad, because he doesn't want to know them, he needs them to keep his thinking _not blurry_ and his mind is _starved of stimuli_ and he's sure there's a colour _ice yellow_ because you mustn't eat the yellow snow, and you _mustn't gasp because then you panic_ and you lose control because you remember and you don't want to remember because then you have nothing to challenge you _but memories are all he has left_ and it's not dark it's light, and it might be cold but he doesn't know anymore since he's a winter spirit, so if it isn't dark and it isn't cold is he still Jack Frost, because if a winter spirit breaks and there's no one around to care then do they exist at all, and why is Schrödinger's guardians so clever he knew in the At First, but now he's lost in the Antarctic, and someone (Pitch?) took the At First away a long time ago, in fact just after he first lost time, and he's been trying to get it back ever since, but memories are all he has and the man in the moon took those and he can feel nails tearing at his face, and of course they're your nails because _none of them can see you_ and then the sky is rent into tiny little pieces as the Earth explodes into a cacophonous roar, and all the winds of the world try to beat him, but they pass through _it's just an expression sweetie_ and he has no control over anything, and his body aches to fly, his hands clutching for a thingum _a staff?_ that has been missing since time went missing, traded for a creature with baby teeth and feathers that were _colours like ice yellow and it waseasterhappyeasterhappyeasterruinedbyanexpressio nalonebeforeandaloneagainandanotherstoneandanother stonechildrenwithbabyteethlookingfortime_

When things again become non-blurry, he wonders- if time were a thing, how much would have passed?

But dwelling on these things does not keep him _he'snotsaneanymorehe'smaduntrustablesowhatdotheyke ephim?_ and instead he turns his mind to puzzling out why Schrödinger's Guardians were clever in the At First but not clever here. The Words of minutes and months passed are forgotten as a new challenge occupies the spirit, who dregs his memory, and if he were to somehow think of the words Happy Birthday then they wouldn't have meaning at all, except he might know that a birthday is a thing he knew about once. The pattern of remembering and forgetting repeats, just as everything repeats, especially in the Antarctic.

* * *

The Nightmare King hadn't bothered to check on the winter spirit in the time that had elapsed. He could feel the child's fear from across the continents, and he didn't want to risk being seen, lest the boy believe he might actually have people who cared about him.

So when he peered out the shadows closest to the prostrate form, he wasn't expecting the lurch his stomach gave. For a few minutes he just stared, taking in the sight before him. He had known that seventy years alone would have some negative consequences, but this... a wide smile spread over his face. Oh, the grand unveiling was going to be _excellent_.

* * *

Jack had worked some things out, and his thoughts were feeling almost not blurry. He knew that a Schrödinger was a box, and because boxes held memories there was obviously a link to Tooth, and therefore the guardians, so that could lead you to Schrödinger's guardians. However, he still couldn't think why this was clever, and he was on the verge of tears with frustration when a sudden movement snapped him out of his reverie.

Long tendrils of black something made out of something else were snaking up from the ground and began to wrap themselves around his arms. He opened his mouth to scream, but of course no sound came out. He raised his arms to struggle, but paused.

Perhaps this was death, finally coming to collect.

He relaxed again, a small smile shattering his chapped lips. Death. He had waited so long for death, and it was finally coming. Perhaps, if it turned out they were dead, he could meet the Schrödinger's guardians in the afterlife. If there is one. He'd given this a lot of thought, and wasn't worried either way. He'd been longing for any way out ever since time broke, and numbness would be gladly accepted. How nice it would be to be numb.

The tendrils lifted him slowly, cradling him, and another something out of something appeared. It looked like a thing that Jack had known once but forced himself to forget (he didn't want to forget, not really, for even in death memories would be all he had). Something bad. Something to fight. He was gently deposited on the thing's back, and a feeling washed over him. He'd probably forgotten what the feeling that washed over him was called, because the only word he could think of was _wrong_.

But death wasn't wrong. To die would be a wonderful thing.

At least, that's what he tried to remember as the creature sucked him into the shadows, a silent scream dying on his lips. If he was dying, then why were his thoughts so _clear__?_


	3. Chapter 3- Returning

**Hello again! Could I just tell you that you are all incredible! I cannot believe the amount of attention this story has already gotten, and I'm sorry that this third chapter has taken so long!**

**Okay, so, fair warning: this chapter's quite gruesome. Not very pleasant imagery, talks about emaciation and some pretty grim injuries (word of advice, NEVER google emaciation). Read on at your own risk.**

* * *

The guardians were back in the pole for another one of their monthly meetings. It was the day after Easter, and things had gone smoothly, as they had every year for the past seventy years.

"To Bunny!" grinned North, raising a cup of steaming hot cocoa, "for another excellent job!"

"To Bunny!" Tooth cheered, and Sandy nodded enthusiastically, both of them raising their glasses. Baby Tooth, who tagged along to most meetings, cheeped excitedly. Bunny smirked and fidgeted, trying not to look too proud.

"Thanks," he muttered, drinking deeply from his glass to avoid having to say anything else. When he'd drained it, he turned to the others. "So what's everyone's news?"

"They've invented a new laser to kill plaque!" Tooth began in excitement, "It was developed by some Siberian dentists who-" The lights above them flickered and went out. She paused, looking around nervously.

"Not to worry," North reassured her, "is probably just because of storm. Emergency generator should come on soon enough." Bunny fought down a growing sense of unease, and his hackles raised.

"Hey, mate? When was the last time there was a storm big enough to knock out the power?" North frowned, trying to remember.

"Not for many years; decades, perhaps a century." Bunny swallowed hard, his Pooka instincts telling him that his hunch was correct.

"And what controller of storms have we not seen in decades?" Tooth's eyes widened and she leapt from the chair.

"Jack?"

A dark chuckle rang out around them, and Pitch emerged from one of the corners, golden eyes glittering, a cruel smirk playing around the corner of his lips.

"Well, well; you do catch on fast." His voice was soft, the words blending together like honey. "Now, now, there's no need for that old man: I'm just here to tell a story." North didn't lower the twin sabres he had pulled seemingly from thin air.

"We do not want to hear any story of yours," he growled, accent thickening in his anger. Pitch raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"I think you do- after all, it does concern one of your precious children." Tooth flew forward, purple eyes hardening like amethysts as she glared down at the nightmare king.

"Pitch! What have you done?" Pitch barked a laugh devoid of humour and stepped around her.

"If I remember correctly, that exact question is what brought us here in the first place; so, are you going to allow me to tell my story or not?"

Emotions warred within the guardians: on the one hand, it was Pitch, the bogeyman, the Nightmare King, the man who had tried to destroy them, never to be trusted. On the other hand, Jack: the immortal teen, the grinning, laughing little traitor that disappeared without a trace. If he had allied with Pitch, surely they would have seen him during the final battle. He was extremely powerful, and his presence could have easily turned the tables and won the battle for darkness. So why didn't he show?

"Fine," spat Bunny, an ugly snarl on his lips, "but do it quickly, before we decide to beat your hide a new shade of grey." The shadows seemed to bunch and grow.

"Oh my, such aggression from a guardian; what is the world coming to?"

"Pitch..." warned North. Rolling his eyes, the bogeyman began:

"One night, a child with no knowledge of who he was and no memory of his past was doing a job when he heard a voice calling his name. He had never heard this voice before, yet it sounded familiar. This child was invisible, and the only people who could see him had ignored him until they needed his help. So who could be calling him?"

"He made sure the little girl he was caring for was safe before flying after the voice, his only friend following close behind. The voice lead him to an underground cavern, filled with cages, all containing dozens of Tooth's little fairies." Baby Tooth shrank back into her mother's shoulder, memory flashing back to darkness of the cave and the desperate pleas for help echoing through.

"There he was confronted by a figure, who knew his worst nightmares, and warned him that they would come true if he stayed with the guardians. The child wouldn't listen, so the fairy was snatched away, an incriminating box was shoved into his hand, and he was pushed back out into the real world."

"He tried to explain, but was cut off every time. 'We never should have trusted you.' 'You were with Pitch?' 'Oh Jack; what have you done?'" The guardians winced at hearing their words thrown back at them, shame rising. Pitch grinned, eyes glittering with malice. "They didn't want to hear of his innocence. They only wanted someone to blame, and here was a handy scapegoat for all their troubles. Without waiting to hear what he had to say, without paying any heed to his apologies, they turned their backs. So he fled. He fled to the depths of Antarctica, and there he was confronted by the figure again. Even after he'd been spurned, rejected and wrongfully accused, he refused to betray his _beloved guardians_." The last part was a sneer. Baby Tooth was starting to shake, memories flying back to her.

"Then what?" asked Tooth when Pitch didn't continue. In response, the nightmare king reached into his cloak and dropped two bits of wood on the ground between them: the broken halves of Jack's staff. Bunny's stomach dropped. "He was given a choice. Self sacrificing little brat, he chose the fairy over his own conduit."

"What did you do?" North's deep blue eyes were swimming with shock and concern.

"No North; what did you do? If you had bothered listening to his side of the story, we could have avoided... well, this.

A nightmare emerged from the shadow behind him, Jack draped limply over his back. With a delighted cackle the bogeyman wrenched the child to the floor, before stepping aside to allow the guardians to see.

* * *

Jack was more than skinny, more than emaciated: he was a barely living skeleton, chest rising shallowly with each breath. His painfully prominent ribs protruded far above his wasted stomach, his fingers were no more than twigs with a thin layer of skin stretched over them and his collarbones seemed to be trying to slice through the skin and break free. His spindly legs were folded against each other awkwardly, hipbones jutting out like spears, eyes sunk deep into scratched and fretted sockets.

His shirt was missing, and his face and chest were covered with scrapes and scratches, deep gouges clawed by his own hand, skin and dried blood visible beneath the nails. Large chunks of hair appeared to have been pulled out, the rest smeared rust red where further grooves had been etched in. Long scars ran up and down his arms, and what appeared to be stab wounds pockmarked his chest. One of his fingers was a mangled mess, and as the bile rose in his throat Bunny realised that it had been gnawed on. There was a hole straight through his left foot where it had clearly been impaled, and as they looked they could see that it hadn't healed, only frozen over. None of the wounds were in any way healed, only frozen over.

It was horrific. It was terrifying. It was all their fault.

As they stared, Jack stared back, once bright eyes widening in fear and shock and amazement. His breathing quickened and he struggled to sit up, desperately mouthing words that he couldn't say. His dried lips cracked open, and blood began to trickle down his chin and onto his chest, running in rivulets down the gaps between his ribs.

"No!" gasped Tooth, flying forward to cradle him gently. "It's okay, Jack, it's okay, we're going to help you," she cooed, looking at the others in panic. They stared back helplessly, Pitch forgotten as they tried to work out what to do. Tears flowed down the winter spirits cheeks, mixing with the blood as he began to hyperventilate. "Sh, Jack, it's okay, shh, you'll be alright, we're here, we're here." Instead of reassuring him, these whispered nothings only served to make him panic more, and in a moment of desperation Sandy shot a ball of dream sand at the emaciated winter spirit, sending him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

"Oh, god," muttered Bunny, leaning back on his haunches as his brain tries to comprehend the sleeping child before him. "Oh, god. This is... How did..."

"I hope you're proud," smirked Pitch before he and his nightmare disappeared.

"What do we do?" murmured North, feeling ill. Tooth brushed her fingers gently through his hair, before her head snapped up and her eyes locked on the others.

"Sandy- get him to a bed. Use a cloud of dream sand, and _don't jostle him_. North, you show him where to go. Bunny, I need you to find Phil and get him to bring a first aid kit up to wherever they take him. I'm going to go and get some broth from the kitchen." They nodded, and separated, Sandy carefully carrying Jack where North directed. They set him up in one of the spare rooms, one with a large window overlooking the Santoff Clausen courtyard. A moment later, Bunny arrived, followed by Phil, whose arms will filled with at least half a dozen different medi-packs and first aid kits. Finally Tooth flew in, clutching a large jug of hot vegetable broth that she put in the corner.

"It needs to cool down before we can give it to him," she explained, trying not to stare at the bones bulging out from the stretched skin. "In the meantime, we can stitch him up. North, those slices on his arms and the holes in his chest need stitches; don't forget to sterilise them first! Sandy, these ones on his face can just be disinfected; Bunny, you're the one with the medical training: what on Earth do we do about the finger and the foot?"

"The foot can be sterilised, foreign objects removed, bones reset and everything eventually bandaged," began Bunny, ears flat against his head with worry as he inspected the wounds more closely.

"And the finger?" The Pooka gently held it up, and took in the teeth marks, the frozen blood, and the shreds of skin hanging limply from the muscle they used to cover, before shaking his head.

"It's gonna hafta come off."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry Tooth, but with this sort of damage... now that he's away from the freezing cold, everything's liable to be infected. If there was any other way, I would do that instead, but this is our only option." Tooth hesitated before nodding.

"Okay."

They worked tirelessly for hours, desperately trying to patch and mend the broken winter spirit. When the finger, which was Jack's left pinkie, came off, North had to leave the room, gagging. Sandy was the best anaesthetic around, and once he'd finished sterilising the shallower scrapes he concentrated on keeping Jack safely sleeping.

"Tooth," asked Bunny as he pinned the final bandage into place, exhaustion clear on his face.

"Yeah?"

"We can fix him physically, but what about... I mean... we can't expect him to be sane. Not after seventy years. Hell, he shouldn't have been sane last time we saw him, after three hundred years alone! How do we make it right?" Tooth's face seemed to crumple in on itself as she struggled to stay composed.

"I don't know, Bunny; I just don't know."


	4. Chapter 4- Apples and Clocks

**I still cannot believe the amount of attention this story is getting, nor the affect it seems to be having on everyone! To everyone who I have killed: I'm sorry. Say hi to Jamie Bennett for me (yeah I went there).**

**I find it rather concerning that I find it far easier to write crazy!Jack than to write the guardians interacting with him; my own whacked out mind perhaps? I have to say, I depressed myself writing this, so have fun!**

* * *

They decided to leave him sleep for a few hours- MiM only knew, he looked like he could use it. They themselves also retired to their own bedrooms- for every guardian had their own room at the Pole- to try and rest and process what they had seen.

It had been traumatic to say the least, seeing the youngest immortal in existence in such a state. Tooth curled up on her bed and sobbed at the sight of the brightly grinning boy she'd once known, emaciated and terrified on the ground. North stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to get the image of those haunted eyes, so deeply set in those fretted sockets, out of his head, but every time he tried to sleep he saw them, imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Sandy sat cross legged on the floor, caught between desperation at the insurmountable challenge before them- what were they to do? They couldn't exactly take him to a doctor, now, could they?- and growing anger at both the other guardians and Pitch for what had happened to the child. Bunny...

Bunny sat hunched over in the corner, shivering violently as wave after wretched wave of guilt wracked his body and his soul. All he could hear were voices from the past, shouts and accusations and pleas of innocence that felt on deaf ears. The broken shell of the winter spirit they had all been presented with, that was all his fault. The tears of panic at the sight of them, the dried blood crusted all over his body, the mangled finger and the foot, everything lay on the Pooka. Was this how Jack had felt, curled up in the chasm after that ill-fated Easter? Fresh guilt swelled up in Bunny at the thought. He cursed himself, he cursed Pitch, he cursed Baby Tooth for forgetting and he cursed the Man in the Moon. Leaping to his feet, he threw the window open and let out an anger and despair filled shout that seemed to penetrate the night.

"You couldn't have told us?" he cried. "You couldn't have shown us where he was? You couldn't have spoken to him once? Not once, in three hundred years before and seventy years after? Did you take Baby Tooth's memories too? Was it you who told Pitch that snapping the staff would halt his powers?" The door behind him swung open, but he ignored it. "He's a kid, Manny! A child! Fourteen years old, and you left him out there!"

"Bunny?" said a voice as gently as possible.

"At least we looked! It may be my fault, but as least we looked!"

"Bunny?" said the voice again, louder this time.

"You know what they say? Silence in the face of injustice is complicity with the oppressor! You were silent! You helped Pitch! Why? Why would you do that?" Bunny choked off, breathing raggedly as small arms wrapped around him and held him tight.

"I know," Tooth murmured as he clutched at her like a lifeline. "I know; it's awful. It's worse than awful. I keep expecting to wake up, and find it was just a nightmare, but that's not going to happen. We just have to try and make things right as best we can."

"I feel so guilty." Bunny's voice was broken, raspy from shouting and grief. He sank slowly to the floor, Tooth stroking his fur soothingly. "I feel so bloody guilty; it's my fault, it's all my fault."

"It's our fault as much as yours." Large orbs of glistening saltwater dripped slowly from Tooth's violet eyes. "We turned away from him; we didn't listen to what he had to say."

"Some guardians we are," Bunny muttered, struggling to keep tears back himself. "Tooth?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you stay here with me? Please? I don't think I can do this alone." Tooth nodded, wiping her face.

"Only if you stay with me too."

* * *

The guardians were woken from uneasy slumbers by the sound of a blood curdling scream.

"Jack!" yelled Tooth and Bunny simultaneously. They were still holding each other where they had fallen asleep on the floor, but there was no time for embarrassment as they sprinted out the room. They met North on the way to the infirmary, and a golden glow up behind him told Bunny that Sandy was on his way too. The Pooka pushed himself forward as the screaming continued, running faster than he had since... since...

_"Is that a challenge, Cottontail?"_

_"Oh, you don't want to race a rabbit, mate."_

He skidded into the room they'd left Jack in to find him huddled beneath the blankets, staring at the steadily ticking alarm clock in abject terror, still screaming. The guardian hesitated for a moment before snatching the offending item and smashing it on the floor. Immediately the screaming stopped, but now those cerulean eyes swivelled to stare at him instead.

"Uh... morning, mate; how are you feeling?" Jack was gasping great shuddering breaths, and the Pooka took a cautious step forward before tentatively placing his paw on the spirit's shoulder. Jack froze, before something that might have been the tiniest of smiled tugged at the corner of his mouth. Tooth and the other guardians stopped in the doorway, not wanting to startle Jack.

The winter sprite lifted a hand to his throat and let out a small, gaspy noise similar to a whine. The twitch at the corner of his mouth was back, and yep- that was definitely a smile. Bunny smiled back encouragingly, and Jack made the noise again.

"That's very nice, Jackie," said the Pooka softly, not moving his hand from the child's shoulder. Jack changed the noise to a hum, his shoulders shaking in silent joy and delight. From the doorway Tooth wondered how long it had been since the spirit was able to speak. "Would you like some food?"

It was the wrong thing to say; Jack began to tremble as he frantically shook his head, before nodding. Tears started to slide down his face, freezing when they reached halfway down his cheeks and tumbling to the ground like tiny crystals; a high pitched keening nose tore from his lips. It was too much for Tooth to bear- suddenly she was next to Bunny, gently stroking Jack's hair as she knelt down next to him, putting her eyes on his lever.

"Hey... Hey, Sweet Tooth... don't worry, it's okay." She pinched the back of Bunny's leg and raised an eyebrow at him as though to say 'go get the broth,' which was still in the corner from the day before. "It's okay... can you make that nice noise again? The one you made for Bunny?" He paused, looking straight at her, and for a moment it was as though the veil over his mind had lifted and he was back, the real Jack, the one they had known seventy years ago. He raised an eyebrow and her heart leapt, but next second his eyes dimmed again and he softly hummed.

"Here we go, Jackie," said Bunny, slowly holding up a spoon full of the nutritious liquid. "I just need you to open up." Jack hesitated, before opening his mouth a fraction of an inch. Bunny tipped the broth in as best he could, a little stream dribbling down his chin. "Now swallow." The winter spirit complied and they held their breaths (North and Sandy still peering in the doorway) waiting for his reaction.

What happened next happened too quickly for any of them to stop it. Jack's eyes widened, and then there was a blur of movement and Jack suddenly wasn't in the bed anymore. He was hunched over in the corner, gulping at the broth as fast as he could. By the time any of them registered what was going on, it was half gone.

"Jack!" gasped Tooth, "Don't! You'll make yourself-" she cut off as Bunny pushed open the window and the winter spirit leaned out just in time to throw up the entire contents of his stomach. "... sick." She turned to North and Sandy, eyes wide and scared, voice determinedly composed as her hands clenched into shaking fists; "Sandy, could you put him back to sleep please? I think we need to do some psychology research."

* * *

All he could do was focus on facts.

He wasn't dead _maybe he was maybe this is purgatory for screw up for failure for immortals who make a mess wherever they go for those who should never have been trusted_

The guardians were alive _or maybe they're dead with him maybe heaven for them is torturing him for all eternity because he ruined Easter it was all gone because of him_

There were colours _they blinded him burned him too many colours too many faces so much stuff all of it swimming behind a wall of tears_

There were sounds _and he could make them and people speaking saying the words that he spoke in his head and if he could make sounds perhaps he could speak as well perhaps he could move his lips and talk to the alive undead guardians of hell_

There was food _but it was all a trick because it felt so good but then it felt so bad and his throat burned and his stomach churned and it hurt so much why did it hurt_

Why did it hurt? He knew once.

Everything repeats. He can know again.

And with that thought, the veil over Jack lifts and for a second he sees Santoff Clausen as he saw it before, and he can see the wonder in everything around him, just like a tiny wooden doll with wide eyes _that are sneaky and frightening and_

And he's lost again, lost on the wrong side of the wall, the wall that bars him from the land of the sane, wandering forever with flesh slowly fading, bones rising to greet him like an old friend, nothing but a skeleton with skin, a skinny skeleton, and he thinks that might be funny so he laughs a little, just to hear his voice.

In a flash Bunny is next to him, and Jack flinches back and starts to get out of bed because _he has to go and we never should have trusted you _a fist half raised, ready to strike him where he stood, and Jack becomes aware of the fact that he is whimpering as the Pooka gently pushes him back into the bed with the warbled nothing of

'it's okay, Jackie boy, you're safe, I'm with ya," and that doesn't sound like safeness to him but what does he know he's Jack Frost he doesn't know anything doesn't remember anything _but you want them so badly, don't you your memories teeth hold the best memories of childhood teeth tooth it's okay I got you little baby tooth_

Baby Tooth! The veil lifted again as he tried to think about the little creature he'd only glimpsed once since coming back. He'd seen her and then she'd disappeared, and the next day he'd found the clock so that was where she'd gone to fix time because Jack broke time for her to stop Pitch's teeth from killing guardians and when time broke Easter was ruined so _his teeth took the staff and he hasn't seen it since if he finds the teeth he finds the staff but they're in the Out There, in the snow and the ice and he hates himself the useless winter child who fears time_

Because time can never run out for him. Either he's dead and this is his eternity or he's alive and this is his eternity. The thought scares him more than he thought possible, and when it comes he does the hum he hums for Sandy and Sandy dusts him and for a while all is gone _he_ _doesn't know where it's gone because the sun is in the Out There and he doesn't know if it's moved so he doesn't count rocks he counts elves but they move and they confuse him and there's something on his chest and it's on his arms and he realises __**he is dead because they've been sewing him like a puppet he's nothing more than a ragdoll useless winter spirit making a mess why you're bleeding all over the floor it's okay though your blood is invisible just like the rest of you**_

* * *

Two weeks after he arrived, Jack escaped the room he was staying in, managed to make it to the other side of the workshop and ripped his stitches out in a hysterical frenzy.

When he awoke, Bunny and Tooth were in his room, whisper arguing about how best to take care of him.

"Tooth, ah don't like it any more than you do, but sometimes straitjackets are necessa-" The Pooka cut himself off when he realised the child was awake. "Hey, Jackie; how are yeh feeling?" The boy was silent for a moment, and Tooth saw his eyes clear, become darker, taking in reality and not whatever warped visions were normally presented to his ruined mind.

"How long?" If not for Bunny's highly advanced hearing the question would have been missed altogether. It was the first words the boy had spoken since his return, but the Pooka had no idea what he meant.

"How long what, Jackie?"

"Was I out there?"

"Do you mean asleep? About six hours."

"No! OUT **THERE!**" It's screamed at them before the winter spirit collapses in on himself, crying softly. Tooth gently wraps her arms around him and he weeps onto her shoulder.

"Oh, Sweet Tooth." Her eyelashes are spiky with tears. "Seventy years."

* * *

The broth starts to come with other things- they call it apple and they call it bread, and because they call it that he calls it that too. Every time he says a word they smile, like it's the best thing in the world, and sometimes when his mind is clear he wants to punch something _because he is not a baby and he doesn't need to be coddled he just needs to_

They call it physio and so he calls it physio, this slowly walking around, muscles aching from disuse and malnourishment. It has a longer name, but he can't remember it all. It doesn't matter, anyway; they call it physio and he does too.

They call them scars, and he does too. He's not the only one who has them- Tooth and Bunny do too. North might too, but they must be covered up. Sandy can't because he's all gold, so he can't have scars. But when Jack calls them scars, Bunny pats the fur on his shoulders and asks 'my markings?' so Jack calls them that too. Jack has markings, and it turns out North does too, ones that say something in words on his arms. Jack wonders if his markings say something.

They call them clocks, and he just screams. Screams and screams because time marks time, and what's the point of time if you're going to be there forever. North and Bunny smash every clock around, and then Jack is happy.

They give him paper and colours, so he can draw out his hopes and dreams and other guardian stuff that he doesn't know about because _I'm not a guardian you don't want me thats not for me you got that right mate_

He can't think what to draw, and ends up settling on a picture of the guardians. He uses the red crayon to draw North, and the grey crayon to draw Bunny, the yellow crayon for Sandy and lots of crayons for Tooth, who he can't get right so he scrunches the sheet up and decides to draw something he can draw. He takes the white crayon and does snowflakes, hundreds and hundreds of snowflakes, over a dozen sheets of paper, each one unique, each one perfect, because he hates the snow but snowflakes are beautiful and when North comes in and asks him why he hasn't drawn anything he starts to cry.

Theere are so many things he still doesn't understand. Things he half sees and half hears, words that don't make sense, sounds that make no noise, shadows so dark they blind him. Once he wakes up and a great big thingum is staring at him, and the it points to fingers at its eyes, and then the same two fingers at Jack before walking out, tears dripping from the fur that covers it. He doesn't understand, and he doesn't know how to ask.

They call it tragic, so he calls it tragic too. They call it awful, and he calls it awful too. They call it horrifying, and he calls it horrifying too. He never knows what a tragic is, or an awful or a horrifying, until he sees his reflection in the glass of the window and wonders if they should be calling it Jack Frost.

* * *

**So, I don't know if I managed to get this across, but I was going for 'Jack is better in the second bit.' Yeah, I'm not overly thrilled about this chapter or last chapter, but next chapter, which will be the last chapter, will hopefully be brilliant (if it turns out like I've planned). This one was kind of choppy, but just pretend it's a literary representation of Jack's fluctuating moods and sanity levels to an audience who has never known such troubles (or whatever it is my English teacher would say!)**


	5. Chapter 5- Freedom

**Massive thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, and even greater thanks to those who have taken the time to gift me with a review! I really appreciate them, and if you want to tell me what you think at the end of this then do not hesitate!**

**Which brings us to my next point: last chapter :'( I feel slightly bad that I have taken so much pleasure in making you all cry, but you seem to like it, otherwise you wouldn't have read so far into this incredibly depressing story! With that in mind, however, I have taken your requests into consideration, and am ending this with a hopeful note. Perhaps that will make you feel better and help to heal your broken hearts :)**

**Read, review, and please enjoy the final 2000 words of Abandoned in Antarctica.**

* * *

**2 years later**

Jack's sketches lined the walls of the room that was now his room, the room that they had first brought him to. The windows glowed, an iridescent rainbow of stained glass for a winter spirit who never wanted to see ice and snow again, particularly not the ice and snow of a pole. In the corner of the room sat two halves of a staff; though deep down he believed he could fix it if given enough motive, he'd just never found the strength, and though he pined for it on every level, he convinced himself that seventy years was long enough to get over it.

Instead, North had fashioned him a new staff, with the same weight, balance and dimensions of his old. It was no good as a conduit, but it was a comfort in his hands, and it helped him to get around: his foot had been too damaged to heal properly, and it was now deformed. He walked with a limp, and would do for the rest of his immortal life. When asked about how he had gotten the injury, he'd simply shrugged- Jack genuinely did not remember what had happened, though it certainly must have hurt.

The shelves were lined with books of every kind- when they'd first found him, one of the guardians would come in every night and read to him. When he was better, when his mind and thoughts were clearer, North taught him to read for himself. He didn't know whether he'd been able to read before or not, but he suspected not- who would have bothered to teach _Jack Frost_ how to read?

In one corner was a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, both intended for clothes. The wardrobe, however, was filled with other things- toys from the workshop, googies that Bunny had given to him, a bowl of dream sand from Sandy for when he wanted to sleep, and his teeth. Tooth had given them to him a few months after he'd been returned- for that is how they all called it; being returned, as if Pitch had been keeping a hold of him all those years- but he didn't want to look at them. Not after all the trouble they'd caused. They were shoved in the back, underneath a scrap of velvet.

On top of the chest of drawers was a music player, with CDs piled high on either side. Jack had discovered a love for music, from classical to metal, and even though the discs were now outdated he didn't like playing his music through anything else. As a result, he had very little music from after 2020. Some of the songs he recognized from the Before, others were new to him: he hadn't really had the means to get music until recently.

In the chest of drawers was a large amount of new clothes, most of them various shades of blue. The yetis had had a field day with sewing him an entire wardrobe, and he suspected the elves had pitched in too, because he had woken up one morning and found the guardian shoes next to his bed. He felt slightly guilty about the effort they'd gone to, because he rarely wore anything except for a pair of ice blue pyjamas and a navy beanie that he jammed on his head when he was upset. He could vaguely remember doing the same with his hoodie, and during his time in Antarctica when he still had it he'd practically lived with it on.

Strange to think it was still out there, surrounded by his frozen blood. Jack briefly wondered if it would ever be found by the mortals or whether it would be out there, buried in the ice forever. Sort of like he almost was...

No! It didn't do to dwell on such thoughts. The slips into madness, darkness and fear clouding his thoughts, 'relapses' as the guardians called them, were getting ever rarer, but they still came, especially when he thought too deeply on stuff he knew was best left alone. The guardians had fixed him up as best they could, but there were still three jagged, parallel scars down one side of his face, a memory of a particularly violent fit that seized him a few weeks in to his recovery. His torso and arms were covered with similar scars, but his worst reminder of 'being lost' (a term insisted upon by Tooth) was his missing finger. He often forgot it was gone, often swore he could still feel it, and the very sight of his mutilated hand revolted him. It was a reminder that he was, and always would be, broken.

Rather than think about it, he took out a blank canvas and his favourite paints, and began to work. He never sketched out what he was painting first- he just let it come to him, to flow from his fingers almost as naturally as frost once had. It was comforting.

The painting was very bright, like the rest of the paintings decorating his room. There were several of Baby Tooth and various elves, a couple of scenes he had seen in his dreams, a few still lives of objects found around the workshop, and one of a little boy with brown hair and brown eyes, who had once been important but Jack didn't know how. Tooth had choked up a little at the sight of the painting, but then, she cried a lot when he was around.

This painting was different to the rest- it felt like a dream, but he knew it was real, a place where he had felt accepted, once. It was green, with lush grass and leafy trees, dotted with bright flowers and colourful rivers of dye. Large stone statues guarded various tunnel entrances, and a rainbow procession of eggs marched towards the surface. _The warren_ his mind provided, and it felt right somehow. He carefully printed it at the bottom, next to his signature- an intricate snowflake that he painted on using just eight brush strokes.

He didn't know how long he had been painting- there was one clock in the entirety of Santoff Clausen, hidden in a coat pocket at the back of a closet in the corner of North's room, used to see how far away Christmas was- but he knew it had been a long time. His stomach growled and he remembered what they'd told him: he needed to eat, often and in small amounts.

He propped the painting up on his bed, leaning against the headboard, so that it could dry. The winter spirit took a step back and gave it a good look. It was, without a doubt, the best thing he had ever painted. The colours contrasted beautifully, the whole canvas seeming to glow with a vibrancy that Jack wished he still possessed. It was flawless. He was ready.

The trip to the kitchens was surprisingly quiet, something the immortal child was grateful for. He didn't know why, but the elves had a tendency to push him over the edge, and he wasn't feeling his mental strongest. The yetis were also missing, probably sleeping in their quarters, and without the mad bustle the workshop was eerily quiet. He crept through quickly, not liking the deserted atmosphere.

In the kitchen he rummaged through the shelves, grinning when he found what he was looking for. He slowly savoured a frosted gingerbread man, crunched a Christmas cookie and nibbled at an apple in the hope of appeasing his inner Tooth. Then he poured himself a drink, added a few ice cubes- he could have just grown them himself, but he preferred to avoid using his powers, and anyways, North's ice was in novelty shapes- and started back to his room.

"Jack!" called North cheerfully from the sitting room as he passed by. He and Bunny were relaxing on the reclining chairs, toasting their feet by the fire. Jack wondered what month it was; perhaps July, since they both looked so calm. "Come and join us! He is telling me about how he makes his rivers flow dye!" Jack hesitated- that sounded awfully familiar- before smiling and shaking his head.

"Thanks, North, but I'm really tired; I just came down for a drink, and now I'm heading up to bed." He felt a pang at lying, but it was almost the truth- he really had come down for a drink, and he always felt tired. In fact, he was going up to his bed- he just wasn't planning on sleeping. What would they call it then? Misdirection? He didn't know, so he just held up his glass, bright lights of the workshop diffracting in all directions through the clear liquid. North nodded in understanding.

"Okay, I will be seeing you tomorrow, da?" Jack nodded, another pang running through him as he turned to go up to bed.

"G'night mate!" called Bunny. Jack didn't reply, but then, he doubted they were expecting him to. Instead, he trudged up the stairs, feet feeling heavier with every step. His room was right at the top of one of the towers- they had hoped he would enjoy the view- and despite the physio they had given him, despite the fact that two years had passed, he wasn't as strong as he should have been. He had heard them talking about it, one night outside his room when they thought he was asleep, Bunny voicing his concern that he was still so weak. He knew it was true, but the truth stung. Didn't it count that he was trying?

When he got to his room, he set the glass down on the windowsill before crossing over to the now dry painting. He briefly wondered if the paints were magic before forcing his mind to focus on what was important right now. He had been planning this for weeks, and now he wanted- _needed_- to get it right.

Uncapping a sharpie, he turned the painting over and, in his best cursive writing that Sandy had taught him, wrote on the back:

_Dear North, Tooth, Sandy and Bunny,_

_Thank you for trying. I appreciate it, I really do, but this isn't working. I'm sorry, because it's going to hurt you, and it's going to upset you, but this is something I have to do._

_Good luck,_

_Perhaps I'll see you one day,_

_Jack_

Next to his name he drew a small snowflake.

He put the painting back on the bed, propped against the headboard like it had been before, before turning to the window. They were large, some of the largest in any room in the pole, and now he opened them for the first time in two years. The icy, barren pole stretched out before him. Beneath him was the tower wall, aged and covered in handholds, easy climbing for anyone strong enough. A breath of wind curled around his head, tousling his hair. Wind, his old friend, his first, and for a long time his only, companion. Wind, welcoming him back, calling to him to come, come outside and play.

Tears filling his eyes, Jack smiled, his first true smile in over seventy years. He swung himself onto the ledge, careful not to knock the glass over, and let his legs dangle over the edge. Freedom was so close he could practically taste it, but a small part hesitated, wondering if this was the right choice. Then the wind blew again, and he knew that yes... yes it was.

He took one last look at his bedroom, a sharp note of sadness echoing through him. He felt guilty, like he was betraying the guardians after they'd worked so hard to help him, but they had to understand: he couldn't go on like this any more. Taking a deep breath, he whispered a last goodbye to his caretakers, reached his hand out-

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-and downed the glass of bleach in one gulp.

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**I lied XD**


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